


Waiting For The End

by rennegades (priest)



Series: Wrapped Up In You [1]
Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priest/pseuds/rennegades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to the apocalypse is long and twisted. Before the end can come an archangel must be corrupted, a pagan princess must be reborn, and a family of hunters must be shattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SOUND

**Author's Note:**

> Waiting For The End and Paved With Good Intentions are parts one and two of the Wrapped Up In You universe. I'm writing them at the same time and pieces aren't exactly written in order, though I'm posting them in chronological order. So there is going to be some disconnect between the 'chapters'. These are more ficlet collections all set in the same timeline than a real story. WFTE spans 2000-ish years and is therefore the most... disconnected.
> 
> There's probably going to be annoying tense changes between chapters. sorry.

Contrary to all expectations, to mortal prophecies, to the beliefs of psychics, doomsayers, and mediums, the first sign of the apocalypse was not a particularly noticeable sign. Not to humanity.

It did not come with warnings of disaster. It did not turn seas to blood or air to ash. There was no cultist, no terrorist, no danger that man readily recognized accompanying the sign. There was nothing at all that would cause those who were not expecting it to understand it for what it was.

The third morning of August, 1981, was the beginning of the end. On that morning the Earth herself began to sing; not in words, and not in any ways that humans could hear but oh how she sang. Murmurs and whispers of sound were crooned into the ears one of newborn child.

The Heavenly Host rejoiced, and the Legions of Hell began to put plans millennia in the making into effect.

Equally unnoticed was the second sign of the apocalypse. At the end of July in 1984, the Moon lent her voice to the song of the Earth. Together their voices rang loudly and echoed through the natural world, almost loud enough to be heard by human psychics. Almost but not quite.

The Prince of Earth and the Princess of the Moon had been reborn; the sounds of joy and rapture drowning out the screams of rage and hate, and muffling the scrape of whetstone across blades. It hid the wails of infants transformed and the screams of mothers burning.

The End of Days began with a song.


	2. YEARS

After the fall she had closed herself away, locking the very Gates of Time behind her. Her friends, her family, her people, her Queen... they were all dead and gone. All that she had left to remind her of the most glorious period of her life were those beautiful and cold gates.

She could look forwards through them, look backwards, look sideways... any which way was available to her. Every possible future, every out come, _everything_ was laid bare before her. She spent decades combing through every second that lead up to the destruction of everything that she had known. Decades sifting through possibilities, exploring them in way that no being outside the Creator could even begin to comprehend.

But there was no way to fix this.

Not between Pandeia Serenity's suicide on an angel's blade, and Selene Serenity's desperate gamble to ensnare her daughter's divinity into a human soul. That one single moment was cemented in time. All paths led to it. All paths led from it. There was no longer any possibility that did not narrow onto a broken hearted goddess and her frantic Titan mother.

No, she would have to work with the gamble instead of against it.

Looking forwards after decades ( _centuries_ ) of looking backwards... after searching, searching, searching... the glittering webs of possibility were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It left her struck with awe, seeing what could be if only she would act...

Pandeia Serenity would be reborn. _Had been_ in fact, many times over while she had attempted to correct her greatest failing. A pagan goddess, no matter how diminished, would never be allowed into a mortal Heaven; and so after every death Serenity was reborn. With every rebirth she was a step closer to her divinity. Every new life creating new and glorious possibilities.

There.

There among all the stars of chance and choice came a new and shining possibility. A revival of the old, a rebirth of her beloved Kingdom. Selene was gone, her vessel dissolved into so much ash, her divinity and essence forever entombed in the moon.

But Pandeia. Pandeia could rule. She _would_ rule.

She only had a two millennia to tweak and nudge and shove yank build-tearforce _twist_ time and probability into order. The Princess would be strong enough then.

Two thousand years...

That should be enough.


	3. TIME

For humans time is a river that flows in a single direction.

For the angels, for certain pagans, for a select few demons... the present is a familiar old swimming hole, where the past is the waterfall that crashes into it and the future is the streams that branch outwards. It still flows in a single direction, but it pools and eddies, creating change and chaos. For these creatures, these otherworldly beings, it is possible to jump in or out of the pool at will. They can run upstream, touching on the past, or down into the future if they so pleased.

Of course, the further one went from the pool, the harder it becomes to see it. The sound of falling water becomes harder to hear, and timelines branch off. It's harder to get back to the pool, and it is in the pool that these beings play. It is in the pool where change happens. It is in the pool where the possibility to influence humanity and other lesser beings is greatest.

There is no being that knows, never mind understands, what time looks like to the Creator-Father, but there are a handful of beings who believe that they are close to it. Entities that are capable of seeing all of the myriad of possibilities; they are not limited to the deep pool of the present. They are perfectly capable of seeing the withered and dying present that _could have been_ and all the possibilities that they would have spawned.

These are the beings for whom their existence is so inextricably bound to time that they might as well be considered part of it. These are the Moirae, the Parcae, the Norns; Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos; Nona, Decima, and Morta; Skuld, Verthandi, and Urd; and so many others that claimed the titles of Fate and Destiny. They are the spinners, the weavers, the cutters, those who were entrusted to be the guiding hand in the dark, pushing Humankind onwards.

Always onwards, always forwards, always to new and fascinating heights. They have their own rules and guidelines to follow, but they are not supervised. They do not take the choice from the hands of lesser beings. If those lesser creatures stumble and fall into the muck and the mire... well. That's just free will.

And it is always so wondrous to see men bare onwards. To see them claw their way out of the darkness again and again and again.

There is a subtle grace necessary to play with the strands of the tapestry of time. One must never interfere with man s ability to chose for himself, of course. He must always be ready to push onwards and upwards, to become the next star in the night sky. If Man is to reach his potential, then their actions must be that of a stepping stone along the path to greatness.

In this ever so delicate balance, Setsuna's meddling comes crashing through like a landslide. It sweeps up the old world, the old timeline, and reshapes it to her whims and wishes. Entire timelines wink out as a result of her actions, and for this the daughter of Chronos is pleased. Humanity's chances of survival and their continuing free will begin to dwindle and die as she gathers the possibilities to her and prunes out any that do not follow her plans.

She does not have the time to be subtle, not if her plans are to come to fruition. If Serenity is to ascend, if the world is to accept her as their Goddess-Queen, then everything must be _perfect_.

And if her heavy handed manipulations hid the movements of Hell and the actions of Heaven? Well, there was no one left alive who could open the Gates of Time; not that she was willing to listen to at any rate. She was above the demons and angels and pagans as they were above humans. This was the only correct path, the only way she could ensure the future.

Her fingers tighten around the timelines in her grasp.


	4. BEGINNINGS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand this is the point where I start fucking around with norse mythology. um. yay?

His vessel had a parasite.

Yes, he had known going into this venture that there may be a problem here and there. Forcing a bloodline to come to fruition early always caused a side effect or ten, but this was _necessary_. Father's plans had been changing rapidly, and he had to scramble to put together a form that would last long enough to accomplish everything that needed to be done.

He had been half expecting the vessel to be born female, instead of the male vessels he'd worn since the days of Eden. It had been entirely expected that one or both of her parents would die soon after her birth in order to prevent him from simply waiting for another child. He had expected the weakness, the frail and delicate constitution. None of this would matter once he was wearing her, but it meant that there was a higher chance of her dying before he could get her permission.

There was nothing, however, that could have prepared him for what he found once she had been of age to be of use to him. Of all the problems and side effects that had been predicted, finding a pagan's divinity using his vessel's soul as a blanket had not been one of them. He wasn't even sure how it had happened. The pagans had their own bodies, ones that had been handcrafted or born of other pagans. There was no reason for divinity to be hiding in a mortal soul in a mortal body. Especially not one that had been made for him.

He had called himself Fárbauti, introducing himself as a wandering healer who had heard tale of the weaver Laufey. She was weak and ill, but her wares were some of the highest quality in the region, and so he was not the first to come to the door and see if he could heal her in exchange for a new cloak. He had been allowed into her home, and until he had looked directly at her he had not been able to sense any of the divinity hidden within.

Once he had seen her, it was obvious. Her eyes were a luminescent blue, the only place where the divinity obviously shone, and her hair a bedraggled mess of blonde curls. She was the day to his night, tiny and frail compared to his current vessel's height and broadness. It had felt strange to settle her back onto her bedding, pressing two massive fingers to her forehead and knocking her out before he attempted to find out just what the hell was possessing his vessel.

His Grace enveloped her, pressing in to heal the soul and brush away the divinity. Curiosity rippled through him as the divinity tried to bury deeper, but he wouldn't allow it to escape him. Before he realized what was happening, however, the pagan divinity lashed out, raking tiny thorns across the edge of his Grace.

It _hurt_.

The damage done to his Grace was minimal, hardly even worthy of being called injuries. Just shallow cuts, like a cornered kitten reacting in fear; it stung just the same. Gabriel tilted his current vessel's head, seeing only as an Archangel could see, though none of his curiosity filtered through to his vessel's face.

Again he reached out with his Grace though this time he did not try to touch either divinity or soul. This was an examination, an attempt to find some way to separate divinity and soul from one another. On this second pass, he realized that the divinity was acting less like a parasite and more along the lines of a symbiote. The divinity had grown through rents and tears left in the soul by Father only knew what, filling in the gaps that would have otherwise destroyed the soul.

The divinity was also damaged, though not as much as the soul, given how it had regrown. He wasn't as familiar with divinities as he was with souls, so he couldn't say for certain what it was that had happened to it, or even how it was rebuilding itself, but it was obvious that the soul was sheltering the divinity. It should have been obvious in how he hadn't been able to sense it until he was looking at Laufey.

The angel drew back, removing his fingers from the vessel's body and releasing her from unconsciousness. It took the woman a few moments to draw herself out of the darkness of her own mind. A hiss of pain accompanied the opening of her eyes.

"Be still, Laufey," his current vessel's voice was a low deep rumble, like thunder in a dark night. He rested a palm on on her forehead, only the barest of pressure needed to keep her from rising up from her bedding.

"Fárbauti...?" her eyes were hazy and clouded with confusion. She felt... strange. There was a bone-deep wariness suffusing her that had not been there before, and she couldn't help but wonder if this was yet another fraud who had come to her. There had been far too many men and women who had claimed that they could heal her sickness if only to be lying in the end.

As though he could hear the thoughts as they came, the stoic giant of a man bowed his head. "I am not able to heal you as you are."

She closed her eyes, having expected litt... wait. "As I am?" the other healers had always claimed that they had some herb or stone that would be of aid, but never before had someone dared claim that _she_ was the problem. The goal was to get something out of her for free, after all, and it would not do to anger her.

Fárbauti folded his hands in his lap. "I have a request of you, Laufey. It is not to be taken lightly."

Ah, here it comes. He will want a blanket or a cloak or some other piece of her work before he begins. She was a bedridden woman, not a fool. "A... request."

"Your body was created to house the power of an Archangel, Laufey daughter of Nál. Instead, something else has taken up residence in it, something that is making you ill. If you would grand me permission to wear your form, then I will purge this illness from you."

That was nothing like what she had expected. There was shock and a thrill of greater purpose running through her, and she found thoughts stumbling over themselves. What was an archangel? What did it mean that he would wear her? She was created? By the gods? _Like_ the gods?

"Not quite." she startled as Fárbauti answered her very thoughts. "You are still a mortal woman, not a god. I am an Archangel; to see my natural form, your eyes would be burned from your head. To hear my voice, your ears would bleed and you would hear no more. It is because of this that we ask mortals to bear our power, our Grace, so that we may interact with this world. Your lineage was carefully chosen so that you, Laufey, would be the perfect vessel to host my power."

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "And... of the man that you are... wearing now?"

Gesturing to his borrowed body, Fárbauti sighed. "At the very best, this form only as a few months to it. My power will begin to eat away at the body until it falls apart. Your body, however, could host me until I complete my mission and return to Heaven."

"And this... this will heal me? Entirely?"

"It will."

Laufey stared down at her hands. She flexed her fingers, but it was getting harder and harder to do every day. She had not been able to flex her toes in months, her legs all but useless for longer still.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

"Then... yes. I give you permission."


	5. MONTHS

The first month following his possession of his True Vessel, Gabriel finds himself absorbed in the study of the intricate knot of soul and divinity that was Laufey. It lays cushioned and wrapped as close to the center of his Grace as he can get without causing the divinity to 'infect' his power. All he wants to do is protect this oddity until he can figure it out, and burning the soul out of existence is the exact opposite of that.

In the second month of his possession, the Messenger visits Zechariah in the Temple. He brings great news, and leaves with the old man's voice. It is much later that he realizes that the act was one made out of spite and rage, and not because it had been part of his Father's great plan. He wouldn't change his reaction in the slightest, even if Father were to command otherwise.

In the third month Gabriel returns to Heaven, wondering and worrying in turns. He's not sure what is causing the minor changes and fluctuations to his Grace, and so he feels he needs the time to meditate on it. Worrying that it is the Pagan's soul that is causing the imbalance, he leaves the Vessel in the care of another angel and focuses on himself.

Two months of agonizing meditation and discussion with his brothers leaves him feeling himself again. It also leaves him with a feeling of despair growing in him; while he had been attending to his duties on Earth, Michael and Raphael had heard the pleas from a soul in the pit. As they rescued the worthy soul, their caged brother had spat invectives and abuse at them; Gabriel's heart broke to hear about it, but the words had very obviously struck a cord deep within Michael. It was all his older brother seemed to think about these days.

The fifth month sees Gabriel wearing Laufey's form again, and a visit to another family in another town, about yet another child. While he had been announcing the births of kings and prophets for as long as there had been Man, the sheer number of them of late was... unusual. He knoww more about his Father's plans than the majority of the Host, but he doesn't know everything. Not that that had hindered the observation that something big was going to be going down; the sheer number of children he had announced in the last year was only one of several signs. Michael's renewed obsession with Lucifer is another.

He spends the sixth and seventh months getting very very VERY drunk. There had been a Pagan woman, one of the Greco-Romans if he recalls properly, who had been able to sense Laufey's divinity despite how deep it had been buried. Surprisingly, all that she had done was to smile conspiratorially at him before inviting him to a party on Olympus.

It is an ususual situation to be sure, but there was something just so _fascinating_ about the party. He introduces himself as Nál, and it doesn't seem like anyone else can feel Laufey curled up with him in the Vessel. The party is unlike any other thing that he had seen before, let alone participated in. There is dancing and drinking, loving and laughing, and in this case a good bout of fighting, feuding and fucking.

The rigid form of angelic society does not leave any openings for such chaos. Everything has to be perfect in form and execution; it must follow some invisible and predestined path. To be able to jump away from the path was something that had been given to humans and pagans, and utterly left out of the angels themselves. Over the course of his 'pagan adventure', Gabriel finds himself wanting nothing more than the glorious freedom and free will provided by the pagans.

He also finds it utterly terrifying.

It is a relief in the eighth month for him to be called upon to do his duty. There is yet another woman having a very special child. His Father requires his presence more strongly for this child than any of the others he had announced, and it feels good to have order and direction again. His relief washes away almost as soon as it comes about. The message itself is almost horrifying to behold, and suddenly not knowing his Father's plan seems to be a blessing.

Still, Gabriel did as he had been bid, and went to deliver the good news to Mary.

The ninth and tenth months are spent watching over and guiding Mary and Joseph. If they were needed somewhere, it was his duty to make sure they got there, and to make sure that they stayed safe. News of the christ child would have spread quickly but for Gabriel's intervention.

The eleventh month is spent whispering into the ears of kings, and turning their eyes up to the stars. In turn, Gabriel spends the twelfth month partying it up with the gods of the local pantheon. It is in that moment that he realizes that he has stopped thinking of his body as a Vessel; instead he finds himself considering it his own physical form.

On the 365th day after Laufey had said 'yes', Gabriel wishes for a body of his own and a life outside the confines of Heaven.

The thirteenth month began with the divinity cloaked in his Grace stirring.


	6. LIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in all honesty, I confused the hell out of myself writing this one.

It is with agonizing slowness that it begins to piece itself back together. For time uncountable, all that it is aware of is the light and warmth and comfort that surrounds itself. It takes so long for it to find the trickle of knowledge that lets it understand 'female', and so much longer to apply the designation to _her_ self.

The disconnect between that and the next thought throws her for a time; as the seed of knowledge takes root and a vine works it's way possessively through her, she wonders if this is what it feels like to be swaddled. Now she has three thoughts, confusing and tangled together: _This is me! I am female! O but knowledge grows like a vine 'round a tree!_ and _The child is wrapped in linens and cloth for warmth._

She is grows like a weed, she thinks. The vine around the tree as pieces fit themselves together in the child, but she doesn't need to be wrapped in linen. The longest day has come seventeen times since she was a seedling small enough to be swaddled... and now she has four tangled thoughts. What is day, and why is it long...?

Though these pieces of the past only result in confusion, she clings to each one with teeth and thorns. She won't let them go. She _can't_ let them go; these are the fragments of understanding, these are the fragments of herself. These tiny scraps of being are all that remain of who she had once been.

In time her tenacity and greed pay off. Her name is Serenity. Her name is Nál. Possibly even Laufey. Yes, Laufey is comfortable and warm, a favorite blanket. Nál is the familiar wrap of silks and fur, the sounds of home. Serenity... Serenity is _right_. It is weight and duty and love so brilliant that when it dances with the light all she can see is star speckled infinity.

All three are hers, and she is all three. Each piece is a fragment of her whole, she decides, although it is less a decision and more a remembrance. She _remembers_ Serenity and Laufey and where they had come from. Nál is still a mystery to her, but as she remembers the other two her memories come faster and faster. It is the sickening lurch and spin of pagan travel, and she rests heavily on the light to steady herself.

With each spin she learns a little more of herself, and the light burns a fraction more. The warmth fluctuating now; at times it burns as though she stands in the midst of a bonfire, and she is burning up from within. At other times, the sensation is more akin to being buried in an avalanche; it is all ice and snow and a cold so deep she feels her vines wilt and shatter beneath it. This is the definition of agony, she thinks, but her suffering is proof.

To live is to suffer, so to suffer was to live. She clung to that, and she _knew_.

She was Laufey. She had been crippled, but she had forged on despite it.

She was Serenity. Dead by her own hand, but determined enough to see her love again.

She was Nál. The last memory clicked into place and she called the light by name.

 **  
_"GABRIEL!"_   
**


	7. TEMPTATION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to quote Chuck: writing is hard. More specifically, this chapter was hard. It's been written out for longer than I've been posting this story to ffn/ao3, but I've been working on pieces of _Paved_ and _Perdition_ that directly effected how this one was to be written. So I had to keep going back and changing things. Then changing things in _Paved_. Then back to _Waiting_. You get the idea.

It has been a little more than a century since the death of the Nazarene, and Gabriel the Messenger is still on Earth. He has remained for so long in order to watch over his Father's fledgling religion... or rather, that is what he tells Michael on the rare occasion that his older brother thinks to question it.

It is that, more than anything else that has happened in the years since Lucifer's Fall, that hurts the most. Centuries ago, Michael would have been the thorn in his side; the constant watcher over his shoulder. He would have insisted on knowing everything that Gabriel was involved with, on knowing every message and all the possible trouble that he could get into earth-side. He would have been there to offer aid and even comfort if needed. Once... well. Once their brother would have been right there alongside Michael, scoffing and poking and prodding. He would teach Gabriel a trick here and there, while Michael was distracted.

Those times are long gone; Michael has become so wrapped up in training Raphael to be the 'perfect' Archangel, to become another Michael, that he has forgotten that Gabriel was already one. Michael has allowed himself to dwell on their brother's Fall and on the destruction of their family that followed. Gabriel is unfortunately aware that Michael cannot see the damage that he, himself, has done to the Host while he sits and stews on the hateful things Lucifer whispers to him through the cracks in the Cage. He has allowed those spiteful words to strike at him and penetrate all too deeply, and now all that he can see is the final battle so far into the future.

Gabriel doesn't want to think of it. He doesn't want to think about how his brothers will fight to the death, or about how many of their siblings will die just so they can have their little pissing contest. So he hides. He hides away on Earth, pretending to be a pagan while guiding the new church along the path that Father has set for it.

He's gotten pretty good at hiding, though any angel with a drop of sense to their name can still find him. All they have to do is reach out for the curious squish-crunch of Grace forced into a form too small for it. Thankfully, most of the non-human entities that populate Earth aren't quite as versed in feeling out an angel's Grace. To them he is Nal. Or rather, she is. She is one of them, just another pagan looking to make a name for herself.

It's not that hard of a sell to make when sharing the body with an actual pagan. Laufey has stirred and brushed against his grace every few years since the first anniversary of their "partnership". Each brush has gifted him with glimpse of memory and a little more knowledge of how to use her powers. It has helped him to weave the story that has bound the unlikely pair to the Nordic pagans, and it has become such a familiar touch that he barely notices it these days.

So it is that he thinks nothing of it when he feels her stir again. Nothing, that is, until a soundless voice tears a hole through his Grace, right up from where she is cocooned. The pain that lances through their abdomen is so unexpected that for a moment he loses control of the Vessel and it crumples to the ground.

"Nál!" the impetuous pagan prince that he has been whispering his father's secret too is the one that catches her, hands curling protectively into her tunic. Gabriel can see greatness and power in the future of this pagan, but without using powers that are far beyond what he can borrow from Laufey, he is unable to say just how it comes to be. At the moment, however, he is young and worried; his hands shift nervously to press against her abdomen just above her trembling arms, then against her forehead.

Gabriel laughs slightly, a weak and breathy sound, as she pushes him away. "Settle down. I'm alright, it was just an unexpected kick." The pagan's brow furrows in confusion, but Laufey's lips curve into a gentle smile that it had taken Gabriel thirty years to figure out. "Do not worry so, Borson. Nothing is wrong."

"You are... certain?"

"Of course I am. Odin, if I didn't know my own body, who else would?" Well, Gabriel supposes that Laufey would know the body better than he; by the way that she is tugging and pulling at his Grace it's obvious that she is up and wants... something. To talk, most likely. It's not really a conversation that he is looking forwards to, but it is one that needs to happen.

So she claps a hand on Odin's shoulder, presses a kiss to his forehead, and whispers a blessing in Enochian into his hair. Odin makes a face at the kiss, and Gabriel finds himself laughing again. She braces himself against his shoulder as she lurches back to her feet. "I do believe, however, that it is a sign that I should return home. We will continue out discussion another time."

"Yes, of course." He is still young enough that a mother-figure using that particular tone is not someone he wants to disagree with; it is a tone that Gabriel has forced himself to learn. She flashes him another smile and flickers away, going only so far as to hide the sound of his wings. A moment later, and he is settling them into the Garden, the only place that he can think of where they won't be bothered by angels or pagans or Christians as he tries to commune with Laufey.

He takes an unneeded breath, and then pulls up one of Laufey's oldest memories for them to speak in. It is an ancient palace sitting room, decorated with Grecian columns made of white marble. Gabriel has never seen the long destroyed Palace of the Serenities, but it is obviously their location. The Earth is a cool blue orb that hands in the sky over their heads.

"Gabriel."

He turns to face her, once more wearing Fárbauti's face. It is the only face of his that she would recognize outside of her own. "Laufey."

"Pandeia Serenity," she corrects softly, staring up at the Earth instead of at him. "You have been Laufey for far longer than I ever was."

He shrugs awkwardly as he steps up beside her. For a moment her gaze shifts from the Earth to him, and he finds the blankness of her expression to be discomforting.

"How long has it been, Gabriel?"

"One hundred and eighty-five years. Roughly." Even as he is answering her, he realizes that he has never told her his true name. He turns to ask how she knew, and the slap takes him completely by surprise.

"Two centuries! Two _centuries_ , Gabriel? You stole my life from me!"

Maybe it's the heartache caused by Michael and Lucifer. Maybe it's the pit in his stomach that comes from watching Michael replace him with Raphael. Maybe it's the century of hiding with the humans or the decades of playing with the pagans. Maybe it's just a part of Gabriel that was never allowed to flourish in his Father's House. Whatever the reason, Gabriel grins wickedly as he laughs. "Oh Princess, the deal was that I healed your body and then I got to use it. There was no time limit on it."

She makes a frustrated little squeak before she visible collapses in on herself. "I want my life back, angel."

"Don't we all." Gabriel looks away from her with a frown, his moment of vindictive joviality vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. All he wants is for Michael to open his eyes and see what he's making Raphael and Anael and Uriel and all of their younger siblings into. He wants Lucifer to ask for forgiveness and come home. He wants to be able to walk through Heaven without thinking of ages long gone.

"I still need a Vessel, Serenity. My job is not yet finished."

"Why can't you find someone else? Why does it have to be me?" there is a plaintive whine in her voice.

"Because you are the last of your line. You had no brothers, no sisters, remember? You have no nieces or nephews that I could move on to."

"My aunts-"

"Only have half of the necessary bloodlines, Serenity. Their descendants would burn out in less than five years."

She is quiet for a long time, and Gabriel has to admit to himself that he would actually _miss_ being Nál. Her skin has grown comfortable over the decades, and he has actually built a life for himself on Earth. The magics that are available to him through his possession of her body are something that he has almost come to rely on; a shift to a new Vessel would mean having to give all of it up. And while he knows that he doesn't have the right to her power, that he should give it all up, he's not sure if he can. He has become addicted to the bitter-sweet tang of pagan magic.

"...I can still bare children."

It takes a moment for Serenity's words to filter through, and then the Archangel's jaw drops. "What?"

Serenity looks rather displeased with her own line of thought, but she continues one before Gabriel can get his shock under control. "I am still capable of baring children and continuing the line."

"You would give up your own child to escape being my Vessel?" Gabriel's face twists unpleasantly. "If I had had any doubt that you were a pagan-"

"Look," she interrupts, and her voice sounds strained even to her, "Endymion has not yet been reborn. A child of any other union would not be recognized by Mother as part of the royal line, but is considered... considered perfectly viable if necessary to- to ensure good relations with another kingdom." She swallows heavily. "While this isn't... isn't exactly the same, the child could be considered a bridge between the host of heaven and the pagan divinities; it would not be breaking my vows."

"Raising a child for the sake being a Vessel and nothing else goes against the whole free will thing Father gave humanity."

"The child won't be human. Not enough for it to matter in any case. Gabriel. _Please."_

"I... I need to think about this, Serenity."

As he slips out of their shared mental landscape, Gabriel is careful not to pay attention to the way that his wings quiver. When he opens Laufey's eyes, he ignores the way that her stomach clenches. As he returns to Earth, he pretends that her mouth is not dry.

This is a temptation he is not sure he can withstand.


End file.
